


Fragments from a Lost Manuscript

by lferion



Category: The Iliad - Homer, Troy Book - John Lydgate
Genre: Academia, F/M, Hubris on the Author's Part, Poetry, The Matter of Troy, Yuletide 2016, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 20:53:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9022081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lferion/pseuds/lferion
Summary: Nine fragments from a lost manuscript of a telling of the Iliad, called by the discoverer/translator "The Matter of Troy".





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thewalrus_said](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewalrus_said/gifts).



> This started out two drabbles..... Any and all historical inaccuracies and poetic infelicities entirely my own.
> 
> Thanks to D, for useful commentary.

***Notes from the translator:** These fragments were discovered in a manuscript of Lydgate's Troy Book, but are very obviously not Lydgate's work. For one thing, while the parchment is contemporaneous with the Lydgate, it is obvious that they are very painstaking copies of a much older work, written in Greek, not Latin or a later tongue. Much work is yet to be done on this material, but I thought you would be interested to see what there is. Hector is the focus of the work, but the narrative voice is somewhat different from the Iliad itself, and from other versions of the story. My own speculation, is that possibly Helen or Andromache are meant to be the lens through which one is to read the words, but too little is present in these fragments to tell.

* * *

**Hector, to Helen**

Wisdom is only found in truth, not wine or sport or praying to the Gods —  
Was it wise to come with Paris here to Troy? Was it your will,  
Or my too-fond brother's only? I would welcome you as sister, hold you dear,  
Make armor of this City's walls for your defense, if defended you would be.  
I cannot know the truth within your heart, only that which dwells within my own.  
But I cannot, will not choose your fate; that you must do.  
That is your choice, Helen: are you still of Sparta? Or are you now of Troy?

* * *

**Hector, to Andromache**

Andromache, my wife, beloved, and mother to my son  
I’d hold you close and never be apart  
But duty stern and unforgiving bids me from your side.

Achilles waits for me my love, without the walls.  
He waits before the gate to work revenge upon my flesh  
For Patroclus.

Would that I had known! Twas Achilles' shield and sword,  
Helm and greaves and selfsame scowl.  
But you have heard this, told with better art, and less.

I have fought this fight, and winning was the loss of all.  
You hold my heart - that I cannot lose,  
Though I fear all else shall be lost.

I will return to you, if the Gods allow.  
I shall fight to live, not die, for Ilium, for honor,  
And for you.

* * *

**[Hector, hold hard III]**

Oh Hector, hold hard!  
This night the Gods do craft a weighty work  
At pleasure to their whim  
Now they act, lest heroes lack a fitting shroud  
To shape the stuff of legend into higher form  
Red dawn will come too soon

Oh Hector, hold fast!  
Achilles cloaked in [Hephaestian | god-forged | all the Lamed God’s] might  
Will over-match mere fame,  
For though his storied armor guards thy steadfast heart  
Skill and honor only, unadorned, will not suffice  
‘Gainst Thetis’ son enraged

Oh Hector, hold firm!  
Would that Ajax’ art had slowed thy skill  
Another Hero stood to greet that match  
And Achilles’ best beloved there cut down.  
Thy fate comes fast.  
Take up the prize, the praised deceit of arms  
And leave the rest  
So let Achaean living fitly mourn Achaean dead

* * *

**Priam Speaks**

I loved my son, O brave Achilles  
Held him to my breast when he was born  
I loved my son, O fleet Achilles  
Since first he opened eyes upon this world  
I loved my son, O fond Achilles  
Babe and boy, youth and man, [hope|father and heir]  
I loved my son, O [stout] Achilles  
In counsel and combat, in silence and speaking, in loving and laughing  
I love my son, O strong Achilles  
Though you have closed his eyes and rent his heart  
Desecrated his body and watered my land with his blood.

Let the arms that cradled carry him once more  
Let the hands that soothed bind up his hurts  
Let [the/his] women clean him in sweet and salt water,  
Let the [priests] array him in purple, crown him with gold  
(Let me wash his body)  
(Let me say the prayers)

Let the heart that rejoiced: mourn  
Let the voice that shouted: keen  
Let the eyes that watched: weep  
(Let me place two coins for the Boatman)  
Let the beacon that marked his birth burn again as his pyre:  
Carry the smoke of his virtue, the breath of his song up to heaven  
Release his shade to rest in Hades halls

* * *

  
**[Embalm the Dead with Fire]**

Wash from his limbs the clinging sand,  
the scabrous blood  
Seal up his hurts with honeyed paste,  
balm and myrrh and chypre  
Anoint cold flesh with oil, fill the air  
with all the scents of grief

High the pyre grows  
for Hector,  
son and father,  
Prince of Troy

Wrap his broken form in purple-figured wool,  
embroidered linen  
Lay him soft on cypress, cedar, oak,  
terebinth and yew  
Set on closed eyes the gold and heavy coins  
the boatman's fee

Stark the pyre stands  
for Hector,  
husband, brother,  
Prince of Troy

Lay at his feet the chased and banded shield -  
horse-tamer's pride  
Upon his brow the mark of Priam's line  
in princely diadem  
And at his hand both sword and council-rod:  
wise ivory, bronze might.

[Prepared] the pyre waits  
for Hector,  
champion, lover,  
Prince of Troy

Set the sun-caught spark in fragrant wood  
as shadows fall  
Keen prayers unto the gods, to Hades stern,  
bereft Persephone  
Shout witness to the heavens of the worth and strength of him  
untimely rent from Troy

Fierce the pyre burns  
for Hector,  
Noble hero,  
Prince of Troy

Embalm the dead with fire, blazing high  
consuming all  
Let smoke enfold the soul and dim the stars  
in sigil of our loss  
Till only ash and memory remain,  
grey cinder and cracked stone

Long the pyre glows  
for Hector,  
Prince and comrade,  
Heart of Troy

* * *

**[Fragment 6 - Woe for Ilium]**

O woe, woe for Illium  
Illium weeps for Hector fallen  
Hector fallen on the sand  
The sand runs red  
Runs red with blood  
With blood of Illium  
Of Illium’s fallen son  
O woe, woe for Illium

* * *

  
**[Fragment 7]**

Beneath the white-bone moon  
All blood is black  
All flesh is clay  
Trojan and Achaean all the same

* * *

**These walls shall fall**

These walls shall fall  
As Hector fell  
These stones lie shattered all

These cisterns spill  
As blood was spilled  
The sand stained ruddy still

This gate shall crack  
As sinews cracked  
Wide open to the sack

These towers burn  
As his bones burned  
Stout timber ash in turn

These temples lie  
As Hector lies  
Eyes open to the sky

* * *

  
**[Fragment 9]**

What is this place where in I stand  
— A pillar, a pyre, a stone  
What is this sound that strikes my ear  
— A clamor, crying, a moan  
What is this sight that smites my eye  
—Tears ‘neath an Archon’s crown  
What is this grief that rends my heart  
—The Prince [of the city/of Troy] cut down

* * *


End file.
